| Pablo Neruda -Soneto LXVIII- |
| martes, 12 de abril de 2005 |
Soneto LXVIII
La niña de madera no llegó caminando:
allí de pronto estuvo sentada en los ladrillos,
viejas flores del mar cubrían su cabeza,
su mirada tenía tristeza de raíces.
Allí quedó mirando nuestras vidas abiertas,
el ir y ser y andar y volver por la tierra,
el día destiñendo sus pétalos graduales.
Vigilaba sin vernos la niña de madera.
La niña coronada por las antiguas olas,
allí miraba con sus ojos derrotados:
sabía que vivimos en una red remota
de tiempo y agua y olas y sonidos y lluvia,
sin saber si existimos o si somos su sueño.
Ésta es la historia de la muchacha de madera.
Sonnet 68
The little girl made of timber didn't arrive by walking:
there she was, all of a sudden, sitting among the cobbles,
ancient flowers, of the sea, were a coronet on her forehead,
her gaze was filled by deep rooted sadness.
There she rested, gazing, at our empty existence,
the doing, and being, and going, and coming, all over Earth,
and day was discolouring its measure of petals.
She watched us, without seeing, the girl-child of timber.
The girl-child who was crowned by the ancient waters,
sat there gazing, with eyes overwhelmed:
she knew we are living in a distant trawl-net,
of time, and water, and waves, and sounds, and rain,
and don’t know if we’re beings, or if we are her dreaming.
This is the fable of the girl who’s made of timber.Etiquetas: Pablo Neruda |
posted by Bishop @ 2:08  |
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